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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29889759">Blackbirds: Life of a Thief [1st edition]</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyleenmchenry/pseuds/kyleenmchenry'>kyleenmchenry</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ancestry Universe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ancestry Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:14:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,653</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29889759</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyleenmchenry/pseuds/kyleenmchenry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Abandoned by his parents and taken in by Sean Willock, owner of the Gods Tavern in Stone Creek, Lonan was taught three things over the years: To steal, to fight, and to survive.</p><p>One day, it is revealed he is the son of The Morrigan, goddess of war and prophecy. Lonan stands on the edge of a never-ending battle between forces he does not understand.  Will he embrace his destiny and start his path to becoming a true demi-god? Or will he turn his back and leave his home defenseless?"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ancestry Universe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197671</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>2nd edition printing of the novel and audiobook coming soon.  More information on the Ky's Korner Productions website.<br/>https://www.kyskornerproductions.com/ancestryuniverse</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It’s probably going to be one of the hottest days in history.” The television was barely audible.<br/>
The temperature was way above normal. The heat was so intense, it could melt gold. This summer was the worst since Lonan started living in the tavern’s basement. The basement had no air conditioning, which made it nearly impossible to stay there during the day. Over the last few months, things have been getting stranger than normal.<br/>
Stone Creek had experienced unpredictable weather changes, diseases, and unexplainable mass suicides. Due to recent events, Lonan would listen to the local news stations every morning for the past month.<br/>
“It has been nearly fourteen days since the last patient died from the Dark Storm. With the disease diminishing, hopefully Stone Creek can rest easy,” a reporter announced.<br/>
Lonan’s eyes were getting heavier the longer he listened. He changed the channel before setting the remote down on the table next to him.<br/>
“The Dark Storm has brought-” The television clicked off, Mr. Willock, the barkeep, stood next to it, his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.<br/>
Lonan gulped before slowly turning around. Willock’s red hair was freshly cut short, and his beard entirely covered his chin. He was wearing a white short-sleeved t-shirt and brown slacks that were torn at the ankles. His biceps were well defined even when they were not flexed, and his six-foot frame allowed him to tower over the five-foot Lonan.<br/>
“Why do you listen to that rubbish?” Willock slowly walked behind the bar, looking through the bottles that lined the shelves.<br/>
"Like to know what is going on around me," Lonan answered, careful to keep his eyes on Willock.<br/>
“What you truly need to know is how to keep this bar afloat.” Willock decided on an open bottle of whiskey; it was nearly half gone from yesterday afternoon. He grabbed a shot glass from beneath the bar. “We are running on little coins and rotted bread. You need to get to work picking them pockets.”<br/>
“How am I supposed to do that when the town is all stayin’ in?” Lonan sat on one of the bar stools next to the counter. “Pockets are slim pickins’.”<br/>
“You have lock picks and are easily invisible at dusk, with your black hair and dark eyes.” Willock poured himself a shot. “You can simply escape with a coin or three.” He tipped the glass to his lips, draining it in one gulp.<br/>
Lonan turned to the side, not wanting Willock to see the fear in his eyes. “I do not want to walk into a home with slit wrists.”<br/>
“The more you speak of it, the less time there’s going to be for thieving lad…” Willock poured another glass of whiskey and drank it before continuing. “If you wanna survive, you need to steal." He turned Lonan’s head, so he could look him in the eyes. “You are tall for being only nine.  Smarter and faster than most your age as well.” He smirked. “There is nothing to fear.”<br/>
“What of the deaths? Or the Dark Storm?” Lonan asked.<br/>
Willock held up a hand, “If you want to fear the plague, then fear it. If you want to die of starvation, then starve.” His anger rose with every word. “The gods have no mercy on us; they will never show mercy on you!” Willock took another drink. “Have you learned nothing over the years?  You must face your fears!” He took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. “I trained you better than this, don’t let your emotions control you.”<br/>
“You speak of not being able to afford food and drink, but look at you?” Lonan gestured at Willock and the whiskey bottle. “I am not going to die just so you can drink!”<br/>
Lonan’s eyes stung with the unwanted tears. He felt like he was being taken advantage of and did not know how to fix it. For all of Willock’s speech about courage and strength, that was a fact he could see plainly.<br/>
“You are only twenty years older than me, with more strength and speed,” Lonan said. “Why don’t you steal instead?”<br/>
“I don’t care how you do it, you little wanker!” Willock threw his glass against the wall. “I am giving you five days! If you don’t do it, you are out of my keep!”<br/>
“Aye, aye Captain!” Lonan replied, saluting Willock.<br/>
There was no arguing with Willock when he was drinking. His time as a captain for the Provisional Irish Republican Army had hardened his resolve and made him a raging alcoholic.<br/>
“I feed you, cloth you, and give you shelter.  All I ask in return is help with the bar's upkeep." Willock drank directly from the bottle.</p><p>     Lonan left the common area of the bar, walking down toward the basement. He grabbed his lockpicks, placing them in his pocket, and backpack loaded with his other supplies. After he was satisfied, he left the tavern, sparing only a glance at Willock, staggering away drunkenly.<br/>
Lonan was frustrated by not getting his way. He turned around and glared at the sign in front of the tavern. From the outside, it looked like it had been abandoned for some time; for all of Willock’s talk about maintaining his precious bar, he let it near ruin. The Gods’ Tavern, once the most sought-after establishment, was a joke. He looked at the sign, one nail between it and falling, while the crow insignia was almost unrecognizable. He turned to face the street and started walking; he had work to do and little time to do it.<br/>
The tavern was near the forest, Phoenix Park, and a small road led into the main part of the town. Lonan walked along the road, skipping down the hill, towards the town, which was built like one big maze. Buildings were strategically placed to create many alleyways, and most houses looked like one another, which caused visitors to easily get lost.<br/>
Unfortunately, with the plague and mysterious suicides that have been taking place, this once overpopulated town now only housed two hundred loyal villagers. Lonan walked by the library, town hall, and the hardware store before coming to the school.<br/>
The school was a large building that accommodated all grades from kindergarten to twelfth grade. It was painted brown, with white letters reading 'Stone Creek Primary School'. The playground was fenced off, along the side of the building, and only the elementary school aged children had access to it. <br/>
Lonan placed his hand on the playground’s fence. "Man, I hated this place.” He sighed.<br/>
During the school year, Lonan was teased about not having parents. The words would sting, and he could not help feeling abandoned. He would get hit by the bullies and would come home with bruises and black eyes. One day, Willock started teaching him martial arts, to defend himself. After the bullies received a few broken noses they stopped tormenting him.<br/>
Lonan let go of the fence and continued to walk, peering through the alleyways, and carefully looked through some open windows. Slim pickings indeed, he thought. His stomach began to rumble, his hunger was worsening. He knew that he could not return to the tavern without some coins in his pocket, so he headed to the food market in hopes that he could find something of use.<br/>
The food market was the only tempting target that Lonan was not afraid to break into. It was run by Mr. Jensen, an old man whose bad temper, and dislike of children, made him Lonan's favorite target.<br/>
He scoped the area before looking at the locks. “Even in this blasted plague, that old fool still changes the locks often.”  <br/>
He looked for another way to enter. The windows that were normally open at this hour were closed. Peering into the distance, trying to be careful not to be noticed, he walked to the back of the building. After several minutes, he decided that climbing the ladder at the back of the building might be the easiest way to break in. After walking back around the building to make sure no one was watching, Lonan climbed up the ladder.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After reaching the top of the roof, Lonan walked over to the hatch near the center. He tried to pull it open several times, but it would not budge.<br/>     “How could anyone be this paranoid?” Lonan asked before kicking the hatch. His toe ached from the impact, and an audible thud caused him to freeze.<br/>     He looked side to side, worried someone might have heard or saw him. After he was satisfied no one did, Lonan sat down on the edge of the roof.  He looked at the maze of buildings he navigated through earlier. Several homes, the library, and town hall were all visible from his vantage point.<br/>     “The tavern looks just as terrible from up here.”<br/>     Now chuckling, Lonan stood back up and walked to the other side of the building. From there he could see the farmlands and lake on the outskirts of town. He remembered playing in the water every few weeks when Willock taught him how to swim.<br/>     “It is a valuable skill to have my boy,” Willock would always tell him before splashing him or throwing him in the narrow part of the lake.<br/>     Stone Creek is a beautiful little town, Lonan mused. It was in the heart of Dublin by Phoenix Park and the River Liffey. He recalled Willock once saying that ‘Stone Creek was the source of myths and legends.’ It was as if they were under some magical cloak keeping the outside world from disturbing their peace. At least, it was, until recent events.<br/>     After nearly an hour, Lonan descended from the rooftop. His stomach growled more often, and he began to get thirsty. He reached around in his bag.<br/>     “I forgot my water,” he whispered.<br/>     He ran to the front entrance and studied the lock, which was the only thing keeping him from a full belly, a cold drink, and possibly some coins. He retrieved the lockpicks from his pocket and started to work at the lock. Suddenly, he heard a sound and whipped around, pick still in hand like a sword.<br/>     Nothing was there.<br/>     Lonan turned back to the lock and began again, but another noise distracted him. Still nothing when he looked. He went back to work, his anxiety rising with each click. His fear of disappointing Willock, matched with his growing hunger and thirst, drove him to press on.<br/>     “Kraa!”<br/>     Lonan jumped, dropping his picks in the process.  He turned around and saw a raven perched on a nearby fence. “Who’s dead today, birdy?”<br/>     “Kraa! Kraa!” Two more ravens landed next to the first.<br/>     Lonan chose to ignore the birds and turned back to retrieve his picks from the ground. After a few minutes working the lock, it clicked open. Lonan placed the picks back in his pocket before gently pulling open the door.<br/>     “I refuse to die today, so you can take your ill omens and leave,” he called back to the ravens before entering the building and shutting the door behind him.<br/>     The smell of dust was thick in the air, and cobwebs lined the walls from one end of the shop to the other. Lonan walked to the register and opened it. “Only a few dollars? This will have to do for now.” He put the money in his empty pocket.<br/>     Lonan walked along the aisles, careful to make as little noise as possible. He filled his backpack with fresh bread, crackers, and other morsels before going to the fridge and grabbing a cold water. He opened the bottle and drank, his thirst finally quenched.<br/>     “Much better,” Lonan said.<br/>     He opened some cheese and crackers and began to nibble at it. A faint smell hung in the air. It was a mixture of rotten meat, unwashed linen, and other foul odors.<br/>     “Where is that smell coming from?” Lonan put the rest of the food in his bag, then walked through all the aisles, searching for the source of the stench.<br/>     “Why am I doing this? I should grab the coins and leave.”<br/>     As soon the words left Lonan’s mouth, an urge to keep exploring took over. He stopped in front of the back room where the smell was potent. His fear and curiosity were battling for control. He swallowed hard, remembering the words Willock told him just hours ago. “You must face your fears; don’t let them control you.” When Lonan pushed open the door, he was not prepared for the sight in front of him.<br/>     Darren Jensen, the owner of the food market, was lying on the ground, surrounded by a pool of dried blood. His wrists and hands were covered in slits and trailing blood, the skin purplish-red around the wounds, his face paper-white. His black hair was matted, his eyes closed, like in a deep sleep. His pants were stained with blood and urine, causing a stench that made Lonan’s stomach turn.<br/>     Lonan quickly lurched to the side and started to throw up; the little food and water he managed to consume now lay in a pile on the floor. The room felt wrong to him. Collapsing to his knees, he looked up, noticing the pile of vomit near Jensen’s body.<br/>     “Why have so many people killed themselves?” Lonan whispered. “It is so confusing. Everything about the Dark Storm feels wrong.” He stood up, knees slightly wobbling. He braced himself in order not to fall. “I can’t be here; someone might blame me.”<br/>     Once he was confident he could walk, Lonan left the store.<br/>     How long has old man Jensen been dead? Lonan wondered. He started to walk away but stopped dead in his tracks. The ravens, who were on the fence across from the market before he entered the building, were now on a pole in front of him.<br/>     “Gods!” Lonan yelled, “You scared me.”<br/>     One of the ravens ruffled its feathers, while another turned its head to peer at the road Lonan planned on walking down.<br/>     Lonan looked past the bird. “Is someone there?” he asked.<br/>     Three croaks sounded from the ravens, one after the other, almost as if they answered him in turn.<br/>     “Thanks.” He winked before turning down a nearby alley, as if this were an everyday occurrence and not totally bizarre. “Guess I’ll follow you three then?”<br/>     The ravens took flight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>     Lonan walked down several alleys, careful to keep the ravens in his sight. Occasionally they would kraa to indicate someone was close by. He wanted to get more coins for his troubles, but something inside him made him follow their lead. Whenever he lost sight, a strange feeling came over him, a sort of pull. Then moments later, he would see them again, where the feelings drew him to.<br/>     People were milling about, finishing up their last-minute chores before supper. The sun was setting, the heat not diminishing during his time outside. Sweat poured down Lonan’s face and his dark hair sticking to his scalp. His black t-shirt and pants were nearly unbearable to wear. <br/>     “You must be able to blend into the darkness,” Willock would chime whenever he tried to wear other clothing. Willock had so many rules to follow. He called them ‘The Thieves Code.’  <br/>     “Finally!” Lonan exclaimed once he reached the tavern, “Thanks again, birds.”<br/>     The ravens all crowed, one-by-one, before taking flight once more. Lonan felt a pang of sorrow at their departure. He watched them fly away far off into the distance before approaching the tavern, where Willock was standing outside, watching the ravens in the distance, a grim expression on his face.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lonan recounted the events from the afternoon—the town being empty on his way to the mart, finding Mr. Jensen’s dead body, and the ravens helping him avoid the crowd that suddenly appeared on his way home.<br/>     “You will stay here for the next few days,” Willock said after Lonan had explained everything. “At least until the town has quieted down, no need to worry about the coins.”<br/>     The ravens from before landed on a nearby tree.<br/>     “How long has this been happening?” Willock gestured to the ravens.<br/>     “Just today.” Lonan shrugged. “They were outside when I went in to get food, and still there when I left.”<br/>     “Very good.” Willock rubbed at his beard. “They can stay.” He turned and bowed to the ravens.<br/>     Lonan looked at the ravens and noticed one bowing their head back at Willock.<br/>     Weird, Lonan thought.<br/>     “What are we doing for the rest of the day?”  Lonan turned to face Willock, wondering about the exchange that just happened.<br/>     “Training. Wait here,” Willock said before walking inside the tavern.<br/>     Lonan turned to face the birds again.  It appeared to him that they were staring at him. “Are you here for me?” he joked.<br/>     “Kraa! Kraa! Kraa!” The ravens cawed, one after the other, just like back at the market.<br/>     “I guess so.” Lonan chuckled. Grinning, Lonan waited for Willock to return.<br/>     After several minutes, Willock came out holding a large rectangular chest. Lonan scanned it and noticed it was black with gold filigree lining the edges. A white circular swirl with three points was on the top of the chest. The lock was ornate, in the shape of a crow’s head.<br/>     “When did you get that?” Lonan asked. He did not recall ever seeing it before now.<br/>     Ignoring his question, Willock retrieved a small golden key from his pocket and opened the chest, pulling out two wooden daggers.<br/>     “Use these.” He handed them to Lonan.<br/>     The hilt, blade, and grip were made of ebony. Lonan took them, and Willock pulled out two more identical ones.<br/>     “We have spent more than enough time on your thieving and swimming abilities.” He closed the chest and secured the lock. “Your hand-to-hand combat could use some improvement, lad.” Willock faced Lonan, staring intently at his eyes. “Now, you need to learn how to use weapons.”<br/>Lonan nodded.<br/>     “I will train you with different weapons, starting with the daggers.” Willock moved closer to Lonan. “Once I feel you are decent enough, I will add others.”<br/>     “Kraa!” one of the ravens chimed in.<br/>     Lonan glanced at the raven before turning his attention back to Willock.<br/>     “In knife-fighting, footwork is the key. Just like I taught you with hand-to-hand. It can be the difference between life and death.”<br/>     Lonan gripped his daggers tighter.<br/>     “Now, take your stance,” Willock stood, observing Lonan.<br/>     Lonan moved his feet apart, lowering himself to the ground.<br/>     “You are not getting ready to run boy; you are getting ready to fight.” He kneeled and grabbed Lonan’s feet. “Raise your stance. Bounce a little without taking your feet off the ground. You feel that?” He demonstrated what he meant. “You need to be able to change your position at a moment's notice. Watch your opponent and react to them.  Once you can do this, I can teach you how to strike.” He whacked Lonan’s wrist with one of his daggers.<br/>     “Ah!” Lonan yelled, dropping his daggers on the ground, and reflexively grabbing a hold of his wrist. “That stings!”<br/>     “Loosen your grip on the hilt of your daggers. You want to be able to react to your opponent’s more. What if you needed to throw it? How can you hold onto it like that?” Willock threw the dagger at the tree the ravens were parched on. The ravens took flight and swooped down as if to strike Willock. He tumbled out of the way. “I meant you no disrespect and was not planning on hitting you. It was just to show the boy what I meant is all.”<br/>     The ravens landed on a tree farther away than the previous one. “Kraa!” The raven in front ruffled its feathers.<br/>     “I think that one is in charge,” Lonan said, pointing at the raven. “It has a cut near its left eye.  It is always the first one to make any noise. I think it knows what we're saying, too.”<br/>     “Good eye, my boy.” Willock walked to the tree and pulled out his knife. “Pick them up; we are far from being finished.”<br/>     Lonan did as he was told.</p><p> </p><p>     Over the next week, Lonan trained with Willock.  He mastered how to properly stand when holding a knife. He could slash and stab with more accuracy, and his parries were improving.<br/>     “Now aim for the tree and practice your throws,” Willock said while putting his knives away. “I will make us some supper; I want you to keep practicing until I am done.” He strolled into the tavern.<br/>     Lonan waited until he was out of sight before slumping to the ground. “My hands are still bruised from the last time that old man hit me for not parrying right.” He looked down at his bandaged hands. They had taken a beating over the course of his training. He looked up to the ravens.  “You know what? I think he likes hitting me.”<br/>     “Probably,” the raven with the cut over its eye said.<br/>     Lonan stared at the raven, blinking rapidly. Then he shook his head as if to dispel fatigue. “I must be tired. It sounded like you spoke to me.”<br/>     “We’ve been speaking to you,” the raven with lighter feathers chimed in.<br/>The third raven zipped through the air. “Does that mean he can finally understand us, Bran?”<br/>Lonan gaped.<br/>     “I believe so Fechín,” the raven with the scar replied. “In that case, I believe proper introductions are in order.” He ruffled his feathers. “My name is Bran. To my left is Cromac.” He gestured his head to the lighter colored raven. “The one flying around is Fechín. He is the youngest of us.”<br/>     “I must be going mad! There is no way you are talking to me right now.” Lonan’s eyes were wide in shock. “Am I dreaming?”<br/>     “No,” Bran said pointedly.<br/>     “If you spend your days dreaming about us, then you must be lonely,” Cormac suggested.<br/>     “I think that is sweet.” Fechín landed next to the right of Bran. “I will teach him how to fly,” he said cheerfully.<br/>     Lonan took one last look at the ravens before walking inside of the tavern with his knives.</p><p>     Walking into the kitchen, he saw Willock pouring Guinness into a pot. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming. He walked closer to him.<br/>     “I thought I told you to practice throwing at the tree?” Willock asked, not taking his eyes off the stew, stirring it slowly.<br/>     Lonan looked down at the pot. The stew looked dark brown and smelled awful. “What is that?”<br/>     “Dinner. Now answer my question,” Willock snapped.<br/>     “The ravens, they talked, and I understood them,” Lonan said, not believing his own words. “I must be crazy.”<br/>     “No.” Willock put the wooden spoon down. “Surprised it took you this long to understand them actually.”<br/>     Lonan looked shocked. “You understand them too?”<br/>     “Not really,” Willock said.<br/>     “Don't ravens mean death? Why would they talk to me?” Lonan asked.<br/>     “Go speak to them, and you will understand.” Willock gestured towards the kitchen door.<br/>     Lonan looked at the door, the urge to find out more causing him to take a step toward it. “This is mad. I must be mad!”<br/>     “You are many things, but mad is not one of them. Now go, so I can finish our food.” Willock resumed stirring.<br/>     Lonan looked back at the stew and gulped. He was not looking forward to eating tonight. After a moment's hesitation, he decided to find out more, and stepped out of the kitchen.<br/>Lonan sat on the ground and gawked at the ravens. “Okay.” He took a breath. “I am ready to listen.”<br/>     “Very well,” Bran flew to the ground. Cormac landed on Bran’s left, Fechín next to Lonan. “Long ago, titans walked among this plane of existence.”<br/>     “During this time, mankind was nothing more than cattle in their eyes,” Cormac said.<br/>     “In a way, they still are,” Fechín retorted.<br/>     Bran looked at Fechín and the younger raven turned its head away. “They pillaged the world.  Then one day, the gods banished the titans to a different plane of existence.”<br/>     “Peace lasted for a brief time before the titans found ways to escape their imprisonment.  They mated with creatures to create titanspawn,” Cormac said.<br/>     “Titanspawn are vile creatures.” Fechín turned his head back to Lonan. “No sense of humor.”<br/>     “I thought the gods were children of the titans?” Lonan asked.<br/>     “That is a touchy subject, and it is best not to ask about it if you ever speak to a god directly,” Bran said.<br/>     “Why would a god talk to me?” Lonan looked at Bran.<br/>     “You are the son of The Morrigan," Bran replied.<br/>     "She is the goddess of war and fate of the Tuatha Dé Danann,” Cormac added.<br/>     “She is our Phantom Queen!” Fechín screeched.<br/>     “Silence, Fechín,” Bran squawked.<br/>     “My mother is alive?” Lonan asked.<br/>     “Yes,” Bran replied.<br/>     Lonan stood up. “I need a minute.” He walked inside the tavern.</p><p> </p><p>     A loud crash resonated through the entryway when Lonan slammed the door to the tavern behind him. He did not care and took long strides toward the bar. He sat on one of the stools near the counter. He felt numb.<br/>     “My mother is still alive?” he whispered. “Then why hasn’t she come to see me?”<br/>Hands shaking, he stood up and walked behind the bar. He paced as he tried to sort out the questions that began to fill his mind.<br/>     Does she know where I am? Is this true or some weird dream? Who all knows about this?<br/>As soon as the last question formed in his mind, he felt anger rising within. “Does Willock know?” He stopped pacing and faced the door to the kitchen. He took a deep breath and charged through the door.<br/>     “Did you know?” Lonan barged into the kitchen.<br/>     “Know what?” Willock turned off the stove. “By the way, dinner is ready.”<br/>     “Who my mother was!” Lonan was on the verge of striking Willock.<br/>     “Aye,” was all Willock said before he pulled out two bowls from the cupboard.  He ladled out the stew and put it on the table with spoons next to it.<br/>     Lonan looked at the stew in disbelief. Willock had used far too much Guinness, causing it to reek of alcohol, and turned it darker than a normal stew. There were mashed potatoes in place of whole ones, along with little carrots and other vegetables.<br/>     “Eat.” Willock pointed at Lonan’s chair. “Then I will explain.”<br/>     “Fine!” Lonan said as his stomach growled. He picked up his spoon and scooped out some.<br/>     The mutton looked stringy. He took a bite, and indeed the mutton was tough. He nearly spit out the food. “The food tastes terrible.”<br/>     “Beggars can’t be choosers.” Willock took a spoonful and ate.<br/>     Lonan did as he was told and sat in silence during the meal.  It took longer than normal to finish, due to the taste and quality of the meal. His anger slowly receded as they ate.<br/>     “The Morrigan is your birth mother,” Willock said.  He washed the dishes while Lonan dried them and put them away. “She gave birth to you and left you with your birth father. When you were about four years old, he abandoned you.” He handed the last dish over to be dried. “This was when you were still in the city and not the outskirts like we are now.”<br/>     “I knew about my dad leaving me, but what about my ma’?” Lonan asked, impatience evident in his voice.<br/>     “Patience lad, I am getting there.” Willock sat at the kitchen table. Lonan finished putting away the dishes then joined him. “I was still at sea when it happened. Suddenly I had orders to return to Dublin, but no one knew exactly where they came from. All anyone knew was they were from higher up the ranks.”<br/>     “I thought you were the captain of the ship. Who has a higher rank than you?” Lonan asked.<br/>     “Other captains, and a list of a few others,” Willock went on. “So, I returned to Dublin. Once I got there, I saw a woman who said her name was Macha, and that I had a job to do.”<br/>     “What sort of job?” Lonan was confused.<br/>     “To raise her son. She said that he was special and in great danger. It was my job to train him so he can fight in the great war,” Willock said.<br/>     “I thought you said my ma’ is The Morrigan, not Macha?” Lonan asked.<br/>     “Macha is one of the forms she takes,” Willock said.<br/>     Lonan stood up and walked to the sink. “What war?” He grabbed two empty glasses and filled them with water.<br/>     “The ‘never-ending’ struggle against the titans,” Willock said, grabbing the glass from Lonan, “or so The Morrigan says.”<br/>     Lonan returned to his seat.<br/>     “The war she expects you to fight in, whether you want to or not.” Willock took a long drink before continuing. “Apparently there is a target on your back, just for being half-god yourself.  The ravens were sent to protect you and guide you on your journey. They rule the skies, and you rule over them.”<br/>     “Why didn’t my ma’ train me herself if it is so dangerous? Why send me to you in the first place?” Lonan took a sip of his water.<br/>     Lonan’s mouth was dry, and the water was not helping. The more he heard about his past, the more confused he got.<br/>     “Why didn’t she want me?” Lonan trailed off, eyes downcast.<br/>     “It was not a matter of wanting you or not. It was the only way to keep you safe.” Willock placed his hands on Lonan’s shoulders. “The titans will stop at nothing to destroy the gods, their children, and all of mankind.”<br/>     Lonan looked Willock in the eyes.<br/>     “You are from both worlds.” Willock took his hands away. “You needed to be raised amongst humans to throw the titans off your scent. That is why I have trained you nearly every day, knowing that if I did not, it could cost your life.”<br/>     “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” No longer in control of his emotions, Lonan stood up, slamming his fists on the table.<br/>     “If I did, it could have awakened your powers sooner.” Willock took a deep breath. “You would have been in danger and not strong enough to protect yourself. You are the child of the war goddess; your powers are more potent than others of the Tuatha.”<br/>     Lonan started to walk away.<br/>     “Where are you going?” Willock asked.<br/>     “To bed!”<br/>     Lonan left the kitchen and went to the basement. He knew if he stayed any longer, he was bound to break something.<br/>     “Why did it have to happen so soon? How am I to keep you safe now?” Willock began to cry, his vision blurring. “My poor boy.”</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The clouds covered the moon, thick fog making visibility difficult. Lonan looked down toward the ground, a dirt pathway leading forward, and took a step, feeling that something was just ahead. As he walked, the fog thinned, and trees began to grow up from the ground, with creaking bark. As the clouds shifted, the light of the full moon casted dancing shadows. A lighthouse was just up the hill.<br/>     A silhouette of a boy was walking toward the lighthouse.<br/>     A loud caw sounded from above. Lonan looked up and saw a crow flying high in the sky. It descended and swooped in front of the boy, then flew out of sight.<br/>     Crack! The sound of a twigs breaking came from behind, causing the boy to stop dead in his tracks. Lonan spun around to see the cause of the noise, but nothing was there. <br/>     The faint smell of blood lingered in the air. Lonan turned around to face the boy, who was now lying on the ground, blood trickling out from a knife protruding from his back.<br/>     Lonan froze, unable to speak or move. Tears filled his eyes, as if he knew the boy. The sound of laughter echoed throughout the forest. Lonan willed himself to move, to speak, anything but stand there like a statue.<br/>     “No!” a woman screamed.<br/>     The sound released Lonan from his spell. He took a step forward, then fell to his knees.<br/>     “How did this happen?” Lonan sobbed into his hands. “It is all my fault... MY FAULT!” He hit the ground hard, his knuckles bleeding.<br/>     “Why didn’t you save him?” the woman asked, voice cracking as if she was crying too. Lonan could not see her but felt her presence, “Your choice has cost him his life.”<br/>     “I—am—so—sorry....” Lonan said between sobs.<br/>     “I will NEVER forgive you!” the woman screamed.<br/>     The lighthouse switched on and emitted an intense glow. When it reached Lonan, he was blinded, and moments later, he woke up.</p><p>     The light from the sun started to shine through Lonan’s open window. He was covered in sweat. His heart raced, and tears were streaming down his face. “What was all that about?” Lonan wondered. “Why does it feel like I know them from somewhere?”<br/>     He tried to stand up but fell to the floor and fainted.</p><p> </p><p>     Lonan woke up laying on his bed, a cool washcloth covering his face. He pulled it off and sat up.<br/>     “You finally awake, lad?” Willock was sitting next to his bed, picking up the cloth and placed it into a bowl.<br/>     “How long have I been out?” Lonan asked.<br/>     “Most of the day. It is nearly lunchtime.” Willock stood up and grabbed the bowl. “Take your time. I will make you a sandwich and bring it down.” He left the room.<br/>     Lonan’s clothing was sticking to him from the dried sweat. He pulled his shirt off and threw it to the floor, slowly getting dressed. Willock brought the food to him and left again.  Once Lonan ate, he walked up the stairs out of the basement.<br/>     “Feeling any better?” Willock asked.<br/>     Lonan nodded. “I am ready for my next lesson.”<br/>     “Then it is time to learn your next weapon.” Willock threw Lonan the key to the chest. “You choose this time.”</p><p> </p><p>     Lonan opened the chest and looked through the contents. The ebony daggers were on top. He moved them to the side. Underneath, he saw a pair of broadswords and rapiers. Their steel looked sharp; silver lined the hilts.<br/>     Not yet, he thought.<br/>     Lonan kept searching until he saw the pair of ebony practice swords. He pulled them out and placed them on the floor next to him. As Lonan was preparing to close the chest, he saw a silver chain wrapped around one of the swords. He reached in and untangled it before taking it out.<br/>     Lonan studied the necklace. The chain was short with a clasp and two silver rings hung from the chain. The bigger one was a band with a Celtic knot design twined on the entirety of it. The smaller one was a traditional ring. There was a small knot on both sides of an emerald in the center.<br/>     Lonan was transfixed by the emerald.<br/>     “Pay attention to your surroundings,” Willock said, smacking Lonan on the back of the head. “You cannot let your guard down. Or you will die.”<br/>     “Ouch!” Lonan exclaimed, rubbing at his head.<br/>     “Let's get to work,” Willock pointed at the swords. “Grab your sword, and we can go outside.” He picked up his and left the tavern.<br/>     Lonan put the necklace back in the chest and grabbed his sword, following Willock out of the tavern.</p><p> </p><p>     Lonan had been in this field for hours. Long shadows danced among the hills as the two forms clashed, practice swords clattering as they struck. Sweat rolled down his cheeks, streaking the hours of grime that clung to his face. His clothes, soaked through with the long hours of swinging the lathed sword, clung to his skin where he could not shake them free with movement. He dared not take his eyes off Willock. The older man stood at the ready, blade raised, his gaze focused on Lonan.<br/>     “Cut, boy,” Willock mocked.<br/>     Lonan panted, his muscles aching from the constant effort to hold his sword up. Willock saw the look on Lonan’s face and lowered his blade.<br/>     “You alright there, lad?” Willock asked for the tenth time during their training. “Just say the word, and we can be done for the day.”<br/>     The look of concern on Willock’s face made Lonan smile. He knew the older man cared for him like he was his own son, even if he never admitted it out loud. He raised his sword, preparing to swing. The pain was increasing as the training continued. Fighting back tears, he shook his head.<br/>     “I can keep going,” Lonan said.<br/>     He wanted to make Willock proud and prove to his mother that he could handle whatever the gods threw his way.<br/>     Willock sighed. “Very well, remember you cannot hold the pommel; it is meant to be a counterweight.” He demonstrated again on how to properly hold the sword. “Got it?”<br/>     Lonan nodded, sliding his right hand higher up on the hilt.<br/>     “Good, now swing again,” Willock said.<br/>     Lonan did as he was told.  He swung using his whole weight, causing him to propel forward and nearly fall to the ground.<br/>     “Again,” Willock repeated the phrase after each swing.<br/>     Lonan repeated the swings for nearly twenty minutes. Willock corrected his footing, hand placement, and aim of his strikes.<br/>     “Again,” Willock said, and then Lonan fell to the ground. “Are you alright?” He ran to his side.<br/>     “I am fine,” Lonan said, getting up slowly.<br/>     “That is enough for today,” Willock said.<br/>     “But I can keep going,” Lonan pleaded, visions of the dream filling his mind.<br/>     “Enough!” Willock snapped. “We will continue tomorrow.” He took the sword from Lonan. “Have a rest.” And then he walked into the tavern, to put the swords away.<br/>     Lonan sat down on the ground, his exhaustion nearly unbearable. The ravens flew down from their perch to join him. Bran and Cormac landed in front of him and Fechín to his right.<br/>     Lonan crossed his legs, trying to make himself comfortable. His mind focused on the nightmare. The feeling of helplessness and not being able to protect those he cared about. With the realization of being half-god, he knew that he had to train that much harder. Danger would follow him wherever he went and affect those around him, whether he wanted it to or not.<br/>     “What is it like there,” Lonan asked the ravens, “where my ma is from?”<br/>“It is described as being one of the most beautiful places in all the realms,” Bran answered, his head held high.<br/>     “We don’t know what it actually looks like,” Cormac said with a note of bitterness in his voice. “We are just ravens. We are not part of the divine.”<br/>     “We are lowly servants of our Phantom Queen,” Fechín mused.<br/>     “Fechín,” Bran snapped.<br/>     Lonan chuckled. “Since my ma is a goddess, does that mean I can go to the divine realm too?” He wanted to be far away from Willock, to protect him, and to prevent others growing close to him.<br/>     “If you want to, but it might cause you to get a big head.” Fechín spread his wings and flew onto Lonan’s shoulder.<br/>     Lonan smiled at the smallest of the ravens. He lightly caressed Fechín’s feathers.<br/>     “Never,” Lonan jested.<br/>     “Why must you land on our lord every day?” Bran croaked; eyes fixed on Fechín.<br/>     Fechín ignored the question. He nipped at a strand of Lonan’s dark hair. Lonan rubbed underneath Fechín’s beak.<br/>     As the days progressed, Lonan would talk to the ravens after training with Willock. He was learning new things about the gods, titans, and the magical world. Faeries, goblins, leprechauns, and other creatures were real. The myths and legends had more truth to them than normal humans would like to think possible.<br/>     “He is fine Bran; I don’t mind,” Lonan said.<br/>     “Very well, your highness,” Bran bowed his head.<br/>     “Not sure if I will ever get used to being called that,” Lonan said.<br/>     “That is who you are,” Bran retorted, “the Prince of the Blackbirds.”<br/>     “Break’s over,” Willock said as he walked closer to Lonan.<br/>     Lonan stood up, and Fechín flew to the trees, followed by Bran and Cormac. He did not notice Willock coming out of the tavern. He took the dagger Willock held out to him.<br/>     “We are switching to real daggers, not the practice ones,” Willock said. “You will only practice your aim this time.  We will continue our sparing another day.”<br/>     Lonan turned the dagger in his hand. The sheath was black and had no special designs on it like the other weapons. The silver blade caught the light and reflected it into his eyes. He blinked for a few moments to adjust his vision. The blade looked sharp, the hilt wrapped in black cloth.<br/>     “This doesn’t have a raven like the others,” Lonan turned the knife around multiple times to make sure he did not miss it by mistake.<br/>     “That is because it is mine and not something your mother left behind,” Willock said. “To your usual spot.” He gestured to the forest.<br/>     Lonan walked toward the cluster of trees. He searched for the one with the bark slowly being stripped away from his previous attempts at accuracy. He breathed in deep, taking aim. A surge of power filled him, and he threw the knife. It missed its mark but kept flying until it hit a tree far in the distance.<br/>     “What just happened?” Lonan turned to face the ravens, shock evident on his face.<br/>     “Your powers are awakening,” Bran said, pride filling him.<br/>     “Greater danger will follow.” Cormac lowered his gaze.<br/>     “Our prince is truly wondrous!” Fechín exclaimed, flying to Lonan’s shoulder once more.<br/>     Lonan retrieved the dagger. Awestruck, he turned the dagger in his hands again. He aimed at another tree, but the feeling he had with the last throw was gone. With all the strength he could muster, Lonan threw the dagger once more. It hit a nearby tree, but nothing special happened.<br/>     Lonan kept practicing, trying to reclaim the power once again, but to no avail. He was disappointed that he could not control his new strength, but happy that his skill was improving. Willock made him stop training when dinner was ready.</p><p>***</p><p>     Sutarr, a low-ranking deity, was powerful enough to manipulate others. But his powers had their limits. There were other gods banished to Earth who were stronger than he was. He enlisted Gaya—a powerful wizard of the old blood still loyal to the gods and had him perform dark magic. He made Gaya release a plague that killed many humans. Sutarr used his abilities to control the minds of those Gaya led to him.<br/>     “If you are so incompetent, then let me know, so I can rid the world of you!” Sutarr’s voice filled the cave. The sharp, booming echo awakening a nearby family of bats. The chittering of wings filled the silence before the other man spoke.<br/>     “I apologize, Lord, but I have done everything you have ordered me to do," Gaya answered. Voice shaking in reverence as he knelt against the moist ground. “If it was the right way, it would have worked.” The kneeling man dared not lift his gaze. Eyes fixed on the drops of sweat landing in the dirt, turning the already damp patch of soil a darker black than the surrounding cave. He shivered as a breeze worked its way under the stained gray robe.<br/>     “Are you implying that I am stupid?” Sutarr’s piercing tone edged on the brink of hysterical. He leaned forward on his throne, a gaudy thing made of stone, adorned with simple shining rocks most mortals would consider valuable.<br/>     “I dare not say such a thing, my lord,” Gaya sunk lower into his prostration, forehead pushing against the mud his sweating had produced.  “Your wisdom supersedes everything humanity could imagine.”<br/>     Sutarr was quivering with anger, but he was patient. He had designs for this pawn. This prostrate fool, burying himself in the mud. Mortals were so easy to control. A few promises of power, a few demonstrations—a carrot on a stick.<br/>     “Gaya, my friend, rise. Be on your feet.” His thick voice took on a silky tone, like that of a calming father. He relaxed back onto his chiseled throne, schooling his features to perfect calm. He was in control here.<br/>     Gaya lifted his head cautiously. Slowly. Careful not to meet the lesser gods gaze.<br/>     “My Lord?”<br/>     “Rise, I said. Be at ease. You have done well enough for one of your kind,” Sutarr mused.<br/>     Gaya stood slowly, vainly attempting to smooth the wrinkles and mud out of the gray robes that fell down his length now. Still careful not to meet Sutarr’s eye, he smeared the still wet mud across his forehead, heedless of the tufts of gray he caught in the effort. As Sutarr began to rise from the crude dais Gaya again found himself staring at the floor.<br/>     “I have a gift for you, my friend.”<br/>     “A gift, My Lord?”<br/>     “Yes.”  Sutarr drew out the sound as he descended the two rounded stairs to the cavern floor. Lifting his hand slowly outward, a long shaft of gold seemed to grow out of the lesser gods’ palm. Almost the height of Gaya, it stretched nearly to the low hanging ceiling. Molten symbols began to glow around the head of the staff. Gaya immediately recognized them as elemental runes. “My gift to you, for your years of loyal service. The Staff of the Elements.”<br/>     “I have never heard of such a weapon.” Gaya began before Sutarr raised up a hand to silence him.<br/>     “This staff was a gift from my father, Odin. It will grant you the ability to use the four elements in combat.” Sutarr smiled at Gaya’s nearly gleeful expression.<br/>     “My Lord, I—" Gaya hesitated. It was important to keep up the act. Remain humble. Gods, even lesser kinds, were tricky at the best of times. Gifts often come with hidden barbs. “Thank you.” The greying man said, bowing in earnest.<br/>     “You may proceed with our plans,” Sutarr said calmly.<br/>     “My Lord, we’ve been scouring Dublin and the outlying villages for years but are no closer to our objectives.” Gaya gingerly walked around, circling Sutarr as he spoke, stroking his long gray beard. “The plague and hallucinations have not made as much of a difference as we had hoped.” He reached a hand to his scalp and pulled out a chunk of hair. “Their lifeforce has not diminished our condition. It is time for us to move on to the next city.”<br/>     Sutarr weighed Gaya’s words before responding. “I understand your concern, Gaya. But I have a feeling that what we seek is nearly close enough to touch.”<br/>     Gaya opened his mouth to speak but stopped. He felt a pull toward the south.<br/>     “You look in a trance; speak your mind.” Sutarr sat upon his makeshift throne of stone once more.<br/>     “I feel a force coming from the South…” Gaya said in a measured tone.<br/>     “Gaya!” Sutarr shouted. “We are staying here! What if that force is a god and they overpower us?” He thought for a moment. “Prepare a ritual, so we may gain control of those human vermin. They can find out what it is and let us know.”<br/>     Gaya agreed and set out to start the ritual, waiting until Sutarr was out of sight before working his own magic on his new weapon.<br/>     "The gods are fools, Sutarr the worst of all," Gaya whispered. He began to enchant his own runes into the staff, knowing full well about the weapon and its potential uses.<br/>     "Such a hopeless fool, my Lord Sutarr." Gaya chuckled, working in silence.</p><p>***</p><p>     Lonan looked toward the east, a sudden chill brought a feeling of unrest. Retrieving his dagger from a nearby tree, he went inside for the evening, unknowing what the following day would bring.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You must follow us," Bran said.<br/>     "Follow you where?" Lonan asked between yawns.<br/>     Lonan barely slept; between the excitement of his new powers and his recurring nightmare, he awoke every few hours.<br/>     "To retrieve the gifts your mother left for you," Bran replied.<br/>Lonan perked up. “What did she leave me?"<br/>     "It is a surprise!" Fechín screeched, swooping down to land on Lonan's shoulder.<br/>     Lonan reflexively rubbed Fechín’s beak, looking at Bran.<br/>     “Our Queen left us strict instructions to take you to them once you have used your powers knowingly,” Cormac said.<br/>     “Okay,” Lonan said, excitement pushing away the fatigue, “where to?”<br/>     “Dublin,” Bran said.<br/>     The ravens took flight, followed by Lonan on foot, traveling through Phoenix Park. Lonan passed by the trees with the striped bark, where he practiced his throwing skills the day before, and kept moving forward. As he walked, the trees grew thicker, the sun blocked by their canopies, and darkness engulfed Lonan, like the start of his nightmares. He stopped, a chill running down his spine, filling him with a sense of unease.<br/>     Are the dreams real? Lonan thought, hands shaking, sweat trickling down his face.<br/>     Lonan looked from side-to-side, looking for a lighthouse, but none were visible. Taking a breath, he walked slowly further into the forest, his anxiety growing as he went.<br/>     As the trees began to thin, light shined through, casting shadows where the sun hit the leaves. Bran, Cormac, and Fechín were waiting by the end of the forest.<br/>     “Prince Lonan!” Fechín perked up as Lonan exited the forest into a clearing.<br/>     Emerald grass and wildflowers filled the clearing, bees and butterflies pollinating the field, and a light breeze made the flowers sway. In the distance, stone pillars that were shaped like a doorway stood near a cliff.<br/>     Lonan pointed at the pillars. “What is that?” he asked, his body tensing the longer he looked at them.<br/>     “Through that door lies your gifts,” Bran said. “You will be tested before you can receive them.”<br/>     “If you are found unworthy, you will go mad, or die,” Cormac said, lowering his head in a bow.<br/>     “What is it with you and death?” Lonan asked Cormac.<br/>     Cormac ignored the question and kept looking at the pillars.<br/>     “How come no one told me about this?” Fechín said, landing on Lonan’s shoulder, spreading his wings in a protective stance.<br/>     “You are still young, chick,” Bran said, tone gentle. “It did not concern you.”<br/>     Fechín kraa’ed loudly, causing the butterflies to fly away, ready to strike. “I will not let anything happen to Prince Lonan, Bran, whether it be from an enemy or ally!”<br/>     Lonan glanced at Fechín through the corner of his eye; his heart felt warm.<br/>     “It’s okay, Fechín,” Lonan said, remembering his promise he made to himself when the nightmares started. “I am ready to face anything thrown at me. What do I need to do, Bran?”<br/>     “Just walk through the pillars; we must wait on this end,” Bran said, nestling in a tree.<br/>     Cormac followed Bran and waited.<br/>     “You too, buddy,” Lonan said, talking to Fechín.<br/>     Fechín dug his talons into Lonan’s shoulder, refusing to budge.<br/>     “Not until you are through the field and reach the pillars,” Fechín retorted.<br/>     Lonan nodded, taking a step forward, visions of the nightmare flooding him. The lighthouse, the woman screaming, and the boy lying in a pool of blood were getting more vivid each time he saw it.<br/>     Another step, he was training with Willock at the tavern, but looked to be in his teens. Lonan felt his insides growing hotter the closer he stepped to the pillars.<br/>     Another, Willock laid in a pool of blood, eyes wide and lifeless. Lonan’s stomach lurched. He threw up, tears filling his vision.<br/>     “Your highness!” Fechín screeched, “Are you alright!”<br/>     Lonan waved his hand. “I’ll be fine.”<br/>     Lonan took a deep breath before pressing forward, nervous of what still lay before him.<br/>     Is this real or is this just my mind playing tricks on me? he wondered.<br/>     Each step brought about different visions, more realistic than the last. One vision Lonan was a marksman in the Irish Republican Army; captain of a ship; a grandfather; died young because of the gods; became a god; and the list kept going on.<br/>     Lonan smelled of vomit. Cuts along his arms, his ankles hurt, but he was nearing the end of the path. Fechín stayed on his shoulder the whole time, also looking worse for wear.  He had tried to get him to fly to the others, but he refused each time, insisting that he would accompany him to the end.<br/>     “Just a few more steps, your highness,” Fechín said, his voice weakening as they went on.<br/>     “Are you going to make it?” Lonan wondered aloud, glancing sideways at his companion.<br/>Fechín kraa’ed loudly, wings spreading like before.<br/>     “I am with you to the end, my prince,” Fechín said, settling back on his shoulder perch.<br/>     “Thank you, my friend,” Lonan said softly, smiling at the raven, then took another step.<br/>     Lonan felt like something hit him on the back of the head, the force causing him to fall forward, darkness filling his vision.</p><p> </p><p>      A young boy was wandering by the docks, clothing in tatters. He was hungry and dirty, crying for his parents.<br/>     "Would you like to come home with me?" a man asked, extending his hand to the boy.<br/>     The child nodded his head in response, taking the man's hand.<br/>     Lonan recalled that was the day Willock took him from Dublin to stay with him at the tavern in Stone Creek.<br/>     A brilliant light filled the space.<br/>     "Come to us," a faint feminine voice called.<br/>     "Who are you?" Lonan called, shielding his eyes from the light that was intensifying.<br/>     "Find us, and we shall answer your questions," another woman spoke in through the light.<br/>     "We are near," a third voice sounded.<br/>     "Awaken son of the Morrigan," all three said in unison.<br/>     The light seemed to be coming from inside Lonan's body, filling him with warmth.</p><p>     Lonan awoke, head pounding, reflexively putting his hand to the spot that hurt the most and felt wetness. He looked at his hand and saw blood.<br/>     "I'm bleeding?" Lonan said softly, in disbelief. "How did this happen?"<br/>     Fechín landed on Lonan’s shoulder, nipping at his hair to check the deepness of the wound.<br/>     "That would be my doing," a male voice said.<br/>     Lonan jetted his head up fast to see who was speaking, nearly knocking Fechín from his shoulder. The motion caused another surge of pain from his scalp.<br/>     "Who are you?" Lonan's voice was sharp, readying himself to fight.<br/>     "I am Gaya," Gaya said, his robes blowing in the sudden breeze. "I am here with a warning. Leave this place now or feel the wrath of the all-powerful Lord Sutarr."<br/>     Fechín flew from Lonan's shoulder and zipped toward Gaya. "Go through the portal your highness. We will hold him off."<br/>     Bran and Cormac left their perches and flew at the old man too.<br/>     Lonan feared for his friends' safety.<br/>     "I can fight too!" Lonan yelled.<br/>     "You must retrieve your gifts," Bran called, swooping at Gaya.<br/>Lonan looked toward the pillars. The warmth he felt in the vision stirring within, he stepped through the doorway.</p><p> </p><p>     Lonan was standing on a patch of grass, trees surrounding him, a stream flowing to his left. He noticed a chest, gold filigree and markings identical to the one Willock had back at the tavern.<br/>     Lonan gently caressed the white symbol on the top of the chest. The filigree lining the chest emitted a soft glow.<br/>     “Open the chest,” a woman called.<br/>     Lonan turned around and saw three women staring at him.<br/>     “Who—” Lonan trailed off, looking at a woman with taloned fingers and decaying skin. Her red hair reminded him of crow feathers. “What are you?”<br/>     “I am Badb Catha,” the woman with talons spoke. “You are an insolent child and need to be taught proper manners.”<br/>     “Calm yourself, sister,” the woman in the middle placed her hand on Badb’s shoulder. “He is still new to this world and our customs.”<br/>     The middle one had long red-curly hair, a gold helmet with a white plume on the top of it, and a golden spear in her right hand.<br/>     “Badb is right, Macha,” the last woman said, her black hair wild, eyes completely white. “The boy must show respect.”<br/>     The third woman had dark hair and pale skin that resembled a ghost. Her fingernails looked like claws, teeth like fangs.<br/>     Lonan stared at the three women, feeling like he knew them from long ago.<br/>     “To answer your question, we are all the Morrigan,” Macha gestured to her sisters. “Three parts of one soul. The last is Nemain.”<br/>     “Let me get this straight; there are three of you,” Lonan said, his temper rising. “And none of you bothered to come to see me, raise me, or even give a damn about me?”<br/>     The three sisters looked at one another for a long period of time, Badb’s face growing grimmer as she remained silent.<br/>     “You really are a child,” Badb said.<br/>     “You know, you are a soggy waffle,” Lonan snapped at Badb.<br/>     “A what!” Badb yelled. “You disrespectful—” Badb began, Macha silencing her with a look.<br/>     “Are the three of you actually here?” Lonan asked, smirking at Badb.<br/>     “We are,” Nemain replied.<br/>     “So, if I punch you, will you feel it?” Lonan asked.<br/>     “If you hit hard enough, we might,” Macha said. “But it could break a bone, or end up killing you.”<br/>     “Good to know,” Lonan said, contemplating whether it would be worth it or not.<br/>     "Your gifts await you, Lonan," Macha walked over to the chest, opening it. "Our little warrior.”<br/>     Lonan scoffed. “Is this supposed to make up for all the years of any of you not being around?”<br/>     “These will aid you in the fight with the titans,” Nemain said, ignoring his question.<br/>     “Are you listening, boy?” Badb asked.<br/>     “Oh, sorry, I tuned you out, because I really don’t care about your war,” Lonan said.<br/>Badb took a steady breath, wanting to shake some sense into Lonan, but deciding it was better not to.<br/>     “Why are you like this?” Badb asked, curious why he was the only child of the Morrigan this obstinate.<br/>     “I’m sorry! I am an emotional nine-year old, dragged into a war I don’t want any part of, being verbally attacked by his mother, who can apparently split into three people, who have been M-I-A my whole life. I also have no idea who my da’ is, and my only friends, which are birds, are fighting some old guy who hit me in the head with a rock.” Lonan paused. “Why am I bothering to tell you any of this? It is not like you even care.”<br/>     “I don’t like your tone,” Badb said.<br/>     “I don’t like you,” Lonan said curtly.<br/>     “ENOUGH!!!” Nemain shrieked, sounding like a banshee.<br/>     Lonan dropped to his knees, hands covering his ears, his heart pounding fast, sweat pouring from his forehead.<br/>     "All of you, that is enough." Macha placed her hand on Nemain’s shoulder, steadying her. “We must fight the titans, not each other.”<br/>     Lonan stood up and remained silent.<br/>     “Now retrieve your gifts and stay alive. Time moves differently in this realm. It has been nearly an hour here but only a matter of seconds in the mortal plane,” Macha said.<br/>     “Most of his time in the mortal plane was spent sleeping and keeping us waiting.” Badb chimed in.<br/>     “These will help you unlock your hidden talents.” Macha said, ignoring the interruption.<br/>     “This is not how I pictured our first meeting to go,” Lonan said, looking through the contents of the chest.<br/>     “How did you expect it to go?” Nemain asked.<br/>     “You know, hugs, kisses, apologies for leaving me, that sort of thing,” Lonan said, not bothering to turn to them.<br/>     “You are the son of the war goddess,” Badb said, holding out her talons in Lonan’s direction. “Plus, I have talons for hands. Did you really expect any of this to be normal?”<br/>     Lonan glanced at Badb. “I wasn’t expecting you to have bird hands.”<br/>     Lonan looked through the chest and pulled out a black leather jacket. The buttons, silver in design, had the same swirl as the chest etched into each one. He tried it on.<br/>     “I like it, but it’s too big for me,” Lonan said.<br/>     Macha raised her spear high into the air. A bright light shone from the spear’s tip, and the jacket shrunk to fit Lonan perfectly.<br/>     “What did you do?” Lonan asked.<br/>     “It will now adjust to your size as you grow,” Macha said, smiling at Lonan.<br/>     Lonan smiled at Macha before resuming to look through the chest.<br/>     “You may choose one more item, child,” Badb said.<br/>     “Why only one more?” Lonan asked, not bothering to look at Badb.<br/>     “You may receive more as time goes on,” Nemain said, “but these items are for other children we must give to as well.”<br/>     “I have siblings?” Lonan stopped looking through the chest and glared at Macha. “How many? Who are they? Can I meet them?”<br/>     “Patience, Lonan,” Macha said, voice soothing. “In time, you may come to know them. Now choose your final item and help your friends.”<br/>     “How is this fair!” Lonan protested. “First you ignore me, then show up suddenly, give me gifts, tell me that I have a family that I never knew about, and now I have to be patient. You haven’t raised any of your kids, have you?”<br/>     “No,” Badb said, “we live in the divine realm. Until the children prove themselves to be worthy of godhood, they are not welcome.”<br/>     Lonan scoffed. “Worthy! How does one become ‘worthy’!”<br/>     "Another time," Macha interrupted, "time will be in sync again soon."<br/>     "What does that mean?" Lonan asked.<br/>     "The ravens will not survive," Nemain answered.<br/>     "Choose now," Barb added.<br/>     Lonan hastily looked for his last gift, worry returning. He passed on a set of gold daggers, bow and quiver, twin pistols, and other items that did not feel right.<br/>     "I don't know what to—" Lonan began, stopping when he saw a brown leather pouch.<br/>     He picked up the small bag and slowly opened it, revealing a set of silver lockpicks. Lonan beamed at them before placing them in his pocket.<br/>     "How do I beat Gaya?" Lonan asked, stroking the pouch in his pocket with his thumb and index finger.<br/>     All three of the women pointed through the portal, not saying a word.<br/>     "Guess I have to find out how on my own," Lonan stood up. “Don't forget to visit next time." He stepped through the portal.</p><p> </p><p>     Fechín watched as Lonan left through the portal. Screeching, he flew at Gaya, determined to protect his 'Prince of the Blackbirds'.<br/>     Gaya was wearing a gray tunic and boots; his beard was in one long braid.<br/>     "Annoying little birds!" Gaya yelled, trying to swat Fechín and the others away, his annoyance growing as they attacked.<br/>     The ravens' kraa's echoed through the field. All the other animals fled at the start of the battle.<br/>Gaya began to chant under his breath and moved his hands in a circular motion, a small ball of light beginning to form. Fechín clawed at Gaya, but he did not flinch or slow his movements. Every motion the old man made caused the ball of light to grow bigger and brighter.<br/>     "Cormac, you must get Master Willock," Bran said as he dove at Gaya. “The boy is not ready for this fight.”<br/>     Cormac took off as fast as he could.<br/>     "I summon you, Staff of the Elements!" Gaya roared once the ball was nearly the size of his body.<br/>     The light shifted from a ball to a staff, the brightness dimming as Gaya grabbed the staff. Etched along the wrappings were runes. He raised the staff high into the air, ready to strike. Then Lonan stepped through the portal.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thunder echoed around Lonan as Gaya raised his staff. The clouds were a gloomy gray as the smell of rain carried on the harsh blowing winds. The ravens, meanwhile, swooped down at the magic user repeatedly to keep Gaya away from Lonan.<br/>     Gaya, now annoyed with the avians’ constant attacks, shifted his attention to Lonan with a gleam in his eye. He summoned the power of the Lightning rune, which started to glow a bright yellow, as Gaya aimed with deadly precision.<br/>     As the Staff of the Elements powered up, the man standing before Lonan changed. He no longer had a long gray beard like a grandfather, but instead, was clean shaven. And instead of ratty old robes that may have been white long ago, the man wore black battle armor lined with gold. This new man looked at least twenty years younger than the elder who had stood there before.<br/>     As Lonan continued to take in this stranger’s appearance, he slowly began to realize the similarities the newcomer had with Gaya until it struck him. The man was Gaya. The magic user must have found a way to shapeshift or disguise himself, but whatever it was, it was neat. He glanced at a silver chain wrapped around Gaya’s waist, sunlight glinting off the links.<br/>     “Why are you wearing a chain?” Lonan asked without thinking first.<br/>     "Lightning bolt!" Gaya exclaimed, thrusting his staff forward. The boy was too observant for his own good. Once he was eliminated with Sutarr’s magic, the lesser god could be blamed for the death of the war witches spawn, the battle of the deities would begin, and Gaya could eliminate the ones left standing with his order.<br/>     Lonan snapped out of his momentary distraction.<br/>     "Highness!" Fechín screeched, swooping at Gaya-who-was-younger-and-could-apparently-shapeshift.<br/>     Fechín hit the magic man's hands and shifted the staff enough for the strike to barely miss Lonan, who may or may not have still been in shock about the appearance change, but nobody could prove that.<br/>     "You little devil," Gaya growled, swinging his staff and knocking Fechín to the ground, paralyzing the little bird.<br/>     "No!" Lonan cried. "Leave him alone. I am the one you want." Mentally the boy added, although, I would prefer it if you would just go away and never come back. Thank you very much!<br/>     Gaya raised his staff, calling forth another bolt of lightning, but Lonan was ready this time, tumbling out of the way and jumping behind the stone arch.<br/>     "Master Willock is on his way. Cormac was sent to fetch him," Bran called out. "We just need to buy some time!"<br/>     And, ya know, not die, the boy thought to himself. Nevertheless, Lonan nodded, keeping his eyes on Gaya, hoping that Fechín was alright.<br/>     "So, you can understand the vermin," Gaya mused. "No matter, you will all die here soon enough."<br/>     Raising the staff once more, Gaya summoned another bolt of lightning but missed again. The air was beginning to smell of ash. Repeated lightning strikes hammered against the pillar, sending splinters of rock in all directions. <br/>     "Is that all you got?" Lonan mocked, shouting over the last deafening peel of thunder. He was hoping the answer was no, but luck was not on his side today, as evidenced by literally his entire existence. Of course, he was also trying to stall for time and pretending not to be scared out of his mind.<br/>     Gaya shifted his stance, a smirk painting his new features. Leveling the staff toward the child’s hiding place, another rune glowed red. "Fireball!" he shouted, causing fire to erupt from the top of the staff, propelling its way toward Lonan, but he ran out of its path, the heat intense.<br/>     "First lightning, now fire," Lonan stated, shock setting in. "What's next?"<br/>     "He called it the Staff of the Elements," Bran said, preparing for another swoop. "He should have access to them all by the looks of it."<br/>     "Great," Lonan said sarcastically.<br/>     "The runes are Scandinavian." Bran swooped in and was nearly hit by a swing from Gaya. "I see the four elements and some other markings."<br/>     "Stay back, Bran! I don't want you getting burnt!" Lonan shouted, worried for his friend’s growing hurt.</p><p>***</p><p>     “Where is that boy?” Willock asked, setting the table for lunch. A decent looking coddle, which consisted of leftover meats and vegetables, was placed in the middle of the table in an iron pot. Surrounding the meal was Willock’s favorite dinnerware, which depicted shamrocks around the edges.<br/>     He quietly smoked his pipe as he waited for Lonan, internally worrying. He knew his boy could take care of himself, but he was still young and inexperienced. The ravens, of course, were constantly at Lonan’s side, ever loyal, although they could not exactly wield a weapon in the face of danger.<br/>     Sighing, Willock took his pipe out of his mouth, briefly noting the teeth marks, and served some coddle for himself. It was not half bad, if he did say so himself. Then again, it was hard to mess up food that could be thrown together in about an hour. His worries were momentarily forgotten as he ate the warm food.<br/>     Once he finished a few bowls, he cleaned up his dinnerware and headed outside to smoke his pipe once again. The wind was blowing slightly, causing the trees to sway and bushes to rustle. The clouds kept the harsh glare away, and the signs of rain were evident.<br/>     He stood like that for a few minutes, just taking in the sounds and smells as he continued to smoke. And then he heard it.<br/>     Kraa! Kraa! Kraa!<br/>     Willock looked up and saw one of the ravens flying closer to him. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was the middle bird, Cormac. But that brought up a question...<br/>     “What is the matter, Cormac? Where is Lonan?" Willock asked, anxiety spiking again. The avian’s always stayed by Lonan’s side, or at least someplace where they could keep an eye on the boy.<br/>     A million different possibilities were running through Willock’s head. What if Lonan had been captured? Where was Bran and Fechín? Is Lonan hurt? Did someone malicious appear? How long had Cormac been flying? How long had the boy been fighting or struggling alone? Was Lonan even alone or were the other two ravens by his side?<br/>     Shaking his head to rid himself of those pestering thoughts, Willock looked up at Cormac, who was continuously flying in circles. The bird seemed anxious, almost panicked. This in itself was odd as Cormac was almost always as level-headed and calm as Bran, who was a far cry from Fechín, the one that always made some kind of noise.<br/>     Kraa, the raven replied before flying to the entrance of the forest in a quick, fluid motion. Willock realized Cormac’s intention right away.<br/>     “One moment,” Willock yelled, dashing back into the tavern. He needed his knives and fast. <br/>Stumbling through the house in a hurry, Willock knocked over a few chairs and ran into many other objects before finding his desired items. Whatever, or whoever, had set its sights on Lonan was going to pay.<br/>     Willock hurried back outside and dashed through the trees, thankful Cormac waited for him, impatiently, but waiting, nonetheless. The duo rushed through the woods as fast as wings and feet could carry them, neither knowing if the others were even still alive.<br/>     I’m coming son, he thought, hoping against hope they weren't already too late.</p><p>***</p><p>     "Give up, child," Gaya sneered at Lonan, looming over the boy. He raised his staff for another strike.<br/>     Lonan lifted a mud-soaked arm in anticipation of the coming blow. If it were anything like the last, this one would probably break his arm. He could no longer feel his legs and had long since abandoned the thought of running away. He could not stand now if he tried.  There was nothing for it but to sit in the mud and try to stay conscious for as long as this psychopath wanted to beat on him.<br/>     "You are spent," Gaya said, elated, knowing his victory was inevitable. “Concede, and I shall spare you.”<br/>     “You talk too much.” Lonan smirked behind his raised arm, using the gesture to try to remove some of the sweat and blood from his face. Hurry, Da, the boy pleaded. Just needed to hold out if possible. Keep the old man talking.<br/>     Gaya lowered his staff, peering down at the mess at his feet. How could a simple child be so much trouble?<br/>     “Are you finally giving up?” Lonan asked, smiling as sweetly as he could manage—what with the bloody lip, bruised face, and mud-soaked everything.<br/>     “Hardly, child.” Gaya scoffed, waving his free hand in an arc above his head. The clouds parted as sunlight haloed the looming man, casting a pale shadow over Lonan. “That was a durability test. Now, we break you.”<br/>     Gaya began to chant in a language Lonan did not recognize. As he did so, little balls of light danced around the spellcaster, flitting about like small insects. More and more, faster, and faster, the small glowing orbs encircled the Wizard.<br/>     Lonan was fixated on the man. Were the lights making it seem darker? Had the clouds returned because of whatever magic this man was doing? Breaking his eyes away from the now pulsing aura in front of him, he gazed upward. A black mass writhed in the heavens. Twisting and turning, wheeling about just above the empty stone arch. Birds.<br/>     “Stay away from my son!” Willock bellowed, launching himself at the man from the edge of the trees.<br/>     The two collided in a shower of blue sparks. Willock had produced two daggers from somewhere and began to draw the man away from Lonan, spinning and stabbing in a dance Lonan did not think his frame could manage. Gaya matched Willock blow for blow, countering and attacking with equal fervor.<br/>     A single black form broke away from the sky bound mass and made its way to Lonan. Cormac perched on a bit of the archway that had been blasted off during Gaya’s attack.<br/>     “Highness, are you well?”<br/>     “Alive, Cormac. Help my da’. That crazy wizard is way too strong for him!”<br/>     “That is why we are here, my prince,” Cormac squawked. The raven cocked his head slightly, in the manner that birds do. “I am glad we made it in time, Prince.” And then he was gone, back into the mass of black circling above, cawing rapidly.<br/>     Lonan turned his attention back to Willock and Gaya. The two were still locked in struggle, neither seeming to be able to gain the advantage. Lonan’s heart swelled with pride. His father had come to his aid. His friends had come to help him. For the first time in his life, he had a family.<br/>     His joy was short-lived, however, as Gaya managed to clip Willock's ankle with the end of his staff. The larger man stumbled, deflecting the top of the staff away from a head strike that would have surely ended the battle.<br/>     C’mon, Cormac! Lonan thought furiously at the bird. What were they waiting for? Almost on cue, or in answer to his thoughts, the birds cried out as they wheeled toward Gaya. A streak of black slicing through clear blue sky. A knife piercing the heavens. <br/>     “For the Prince of the Blackbirds!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sutarr sat upon his throne, contemplating his next move. He knew that the Irish gods would not be pleased by him being in their domain. If he were caught, who knew what would happen to him. With no guarantee of protection from the Aesir, due to his banishment from Odin, his father and king of the Norse gods, how would he fare in an open encounter with the gods and goddesses of this region?<br/>     What is taking Gaya so long to perform the ritual?<br/>     Sutarr descended the stairs as he continued to wonder. As the groundwater dripped and splashed into puddles, Sutarr felt the pull of the staff he bestowed upon Gaya. The lower god glanced towards the cave entrance to see a flock of birds rushing towards a growing splotch of gray in the sky. Lighting occasionally struck as the sense of magic Sutarr felt grew stronger. An intense wave of anger rose in him, and he immediately knew what he was going to do. Stepping out of the shadows, Sutarr felt his body slowly crack and the wind blow stronger. His body shattered into pieces of dust as the air picked up the particles and allowed him to travel with the birds, into the direction of the chaos.</p><p>***</p><p>     Lonan struggled to his knees, his legs still refusing to cooperate. The mass of birds had begun their descent into the fray. The two men danced and weaved, Willocks’ blades flashing against the golden staff Gaya wielded deftly, spinning, and parrying each strike. Lonan did not think his father could hold out for much longer. The birds needed to distract Gaya. So, he could do …  what? He could barely lift himself off the ground.<br/>     Without warning, the ground around the two men exploded into a shower of rock and mud. The birds veered, frantically trying to dodge the rain of earth.<br/>     Gaya stood, clasping the staff with both hands, an array of destruction circling out from the point he had plunged the weapon into the ground. The man he had been fighting, the boy’s guardian he assumed, had been sent reeling.<br/>     Turning his attention skyward, Gaya jerked the staff upward, the red glow of the fire rune casting sharp shadows on his face. “Fools!” The air around him flashed into a maelstrom of searing flame. The birds, wheeling in for another attack, were caught in the explosion.<br/>     A distant scream—the boy’s no doubt—barely reached Gaya. The roar of the fire only lasted a moment but drowned out all other noise. Shifting his gaze back to the boy’s protector, he leveled the staff at the man, eyes narrowing. “Still alive, are we?”<br/>     Willock rose from the debris of Gaya’s attack, clutching his left arm just above the elbow. The rest was a ruined stump of blood and bone. His clothing was torn and seared in places, and as he drew in a ragged breath, he was sure at least one of his ribs was shattered. Blood made a smear down the left side of his face from a large gash just above his ear.<br/>     His pain was great, but his concern for Lonan was greater, sparing a glance at his son, who was still by the ruined arch. Fechín was flying just above the boy. He was still alive, albeit in shock; they both were, for now. Snapping his attention back to the Wizard, he gritted his teeth, waiting for the taller man to make his move.<br/>     Bran fluttered his wings, darting upward, away from the searing heat of the air turned molten. This man was dangerous, but something did not feel right to the aged raven. This magic did not belong to the one who wielded it. This was a God’s power.<br/>     Stretching his wings, he circled to join the others. Against the magic of the gods even he knew his limits, but there was still work to be done. As he darted amongst the flock, he was greeted with rallying cries and hails. He ignored them all. He needed to find Cormac.<br/>     “Bran!” Cormac’s sharp trill pierced through the din.<br/>     “Cormac.” Bran came to a stop, pushing against an updraft. “I need you to find the Prince and get him as far away from here as you can.”<br/>     “Bran, I don’t—”<br/>     “Just go, Cormac. Keep him safe,” Bran said, mustering every ounce of authority he could in his words. He was the leader and needed to show it now more than ever.<br/>     “As you say.” The younger raven folded his wings and plunged toward the arch. It would have to be enough. Bran thrust himself upward, above the swirling denizens of his realm, letting out a long, penetrating cry.<br/>     The collective silenced almost immediately as every eye turned toward him. He would rally them, leading them on one final assault against this man and his God magics, in an effort to buy the Prince and his charges time to escape.<br/>     There would be no winning this day, but at least he could do this one last thing in service of his Prince. As Bran turned his attention to his gathered realm, he noticed something off. Not one wing flapped. No movement at all rippled through the gathered masses.<br/>     The air around his feathers began to chill, making it increasingly impossible to move. Mist surrounded the motionless Bran, forming a man, leaving him no time to react. The man reached a hand to him. This is the end, Bran thought. Be safe my prince.<br/>     “Take your ill omens with you to the grave.”<br/>     Snap! Bran fell, his little frame limp in the palm of the man’s hand.<br/>     A sphere made of air and earth surrounded the figure as he descended to the ground, knocking away the birds that encountered it. His expression was grave.<br/>     “Lord Sutarr!” Gaya yelled, pleased that Sutarr came to his aid.<br/>     "Who is he?" Lonan asked Fechín.<br/>     "I have no idea, your highness," Fechín said.<br/>     "Lord Sutarr is the God of the Elements," Gaya said. "He will be your undoing." Lifting the staff, he prepared to strike Willock again.<br/>     “Enough!” Sutarr bellowed, causing Gaya to lower the staff, who was clearly agitated he could not finish what he started. “My staff!”<br/>     The wizard handed the staff over to the god, dropping to his knees and gazing at the ground. At least they knew Sutarr’s name, and he would be blamed for all their deaths by the Irish gods.<br/>     Sutarr turned the staff over in his hands, examining some of the runes that were laid on it.<br/>     Lonan wondered what he was doing but dare not utter a word. Gesturing to Fechín to keep quiet, he began to walk slowly to his father, keeping as wide of a birth as possible from the god.<br/>     “What have you done?” Sutarr said, in a measured tone.<br/>     Lonan snapped his attention back to the pair, worried what was going to happen next. It was clear that they had to get out of there and fast.<br/>     “My lord, I—” Gaya said, voice cracking. His fear was about as plain as when Willock drank. He was a terrible drunk.<br/>     Bash! Blood streamed from Gaya’s nose, staining his clothes more than they already were from the conflict. Lonan probably would have jumped if he were not thoroughly beaten.<br/>     “Please, my lord—” Gaya began before another strike hit him in the belly, then another to his knee. “I am sorry for disobeying you, but they were already here when I was to begin my ritual.”<br/>     Sutarr contemplated for a moment before deciding to continue his assault. One strike after another, the man was on the ground, hands over his head. Gaya’s screams echoed throughout the field.<br/>     Lonan finally reached his father, not daring to make any sudden moves. He helped Willock to his feet, retrieving the daggers that were nearby. As they made their way closer to the forest, Lonan noticed something black in Sutarr’s hand, being crushed tighter with each swing of his weapon.<br/>     “Bran!” Lonan yelled.<br/>     Sutarr stopped in mid swing and looked over at the others, noticing the boy and old man were near the forest. “So that is its name.” He chuckled, tossing the corpse in the direction of Lonan. “I supposed it does not matter anymore.”<br/>     “How dare you!” Lonan cried, throwing one of the knives at Sutarr’s chest. Fechín flew at the god, brandishing talons, ripping at the hems of his clothing and bare skin.<br/>     “Do you think that has any effect on me?” Sutarr chuckled. A moment later, the knife plunged into his leg, making him scream. Now protruding from Sutarr’s leg, the dagger glowed a white radiant heat, making the god bleed. Fechín’s talons dug deeper, causing droplets of blood where they made contact.<br/>     Sutarr looked at the boy in disbelief. How could a half-offspring be able to harm a god, one who hasn’t fully come into his powers?<br/>     “You will pay,” Sutarr said, gritting his teeth.<br/>     "No, you will." Fechín screeched. He knew that his enemy did not understand him, but he did not care. He would rip him apart for what he did to his leader.<br/>     Sutarr raised his staff high. The clouds began to return. Thunder and lightning filled the sky, striking the remaining birds, leaving charred bodies all over the field.<br/>     “No!” Lonan’s anger rose, power surging within him, threatening to consume his entire body. He twisted the knife before pulling it out of Sutarr’s leg. “I will kill you!”<br/>     Fechín continued to screech, slicing through more clothing and skin, making the god’s face, hands, and legs bleed, rivulets of blood flowing down his body.<br/>     Grunting in pain, Sutarr swung his staff at Fechín, connecting with a solid blow and making the bird fall to the ground. Then he hit Lonan’s wrist, causing him to drop the knives.<br/>     Somehow, the boy was using his powers to make the bird able to hurt me. Sutarr swung but was intercepted by Lonan, which caused him to nearly lose his balance. They were locked in a struggle for control over the weapon, the sky roaring louder as they clashed.<br/>     “You are a child, and I am a god! Give up,” Sutarr said.<br/>     “Never,” Lonan said, now crying. His heart ached for losing Bran, his mentor and friend, for his father losing his arm, and for not being able to stop any of this.<br/>     “Then you die!” Sutarr yelled, wind circling around them, sending Willock and the corpses flying.<br/>     Lonan was frozen. He remembered the dream he had not long ago and was worried that more would die soon.<br/>     “Stop this now!” a woman yelled, silencing the wind that threatened to destroy all in its wake. “Or I will end you!”<br/>     “My queen!” Fechín said, bowing his head in respect.<br/>     Lonan looked over at her, wiping at his face to remove the dirt. Her long black tendrils swayed gently in the light breeze. Her dark dress left her shoulders bare, golden bracelets adorned both wrists, and the familiar spiral pattern glinted on a necklace. A crow and raven were perched on either side of her.<br/>     “Are you the Morrigan?” Lonan asked.<br/>     “Yes,” she said, smiling at Lonan for a moment before returning her attention to Sutarr. “How dare you enter my domain and attack those who are under my charge?”<br/>     Sutarr approached the goddess, careful to keep his eyes down, not wanting this to be his last moment. "My lady, I am Sutarr, God of the Elements. I did not know they were under your protection.” He raised his head and looked the goddess in the eyes. “I apologize for my subject; his lapse of judgment has caused you distress.”<br/>     “That does not begin to cover what I am feeling at the moment,” the Morrigan said, breathing deeply. “Leave now, or I will declare war with the Aesir.”<br/>     “Yes, my lady. I thank you for your mercy.” Sutarr bowed before grabbing Gaya by the robes and turning into dust.<br/>     Lonan watched Sutarr leave, or did he? He looked from side-to-side, his mind a jumbled mess. One moment, he felt relief and a momentary calm, and the next, he was jumping at every noise, ready for the eventual assault that awaited them. He had to protect his da and the remaining birds, at all costs.<br/>     What if I die? I am too young to die, Lonan thought. His heart beat rapidly, and sweat protruded from his forehead, palms, and other pores. Hands shaking, he placed them on Willock’s shoulders, looking him dead in the eyes. “We need to leave and find somewhere safe.”<br/>     “We are safe, son,” Willock said, looking Lonan in the eyes with a worried expression. “Are you feeling alright?”<br/>     Ignoring Willock’s question, Lonan looked in the direction of the departure.<br/>     “I will see to them leaving Ireland personally. Take the boy home. I will return to bury the dead once I know it is safe.” The Morrigan began to lower her body, crouching to both hands and feet on the ground, shifting into a crow.<br/>     Lonan watched her, perplexed. He had never seen a human turn into an animal before. She took flight, followed closely behind by the raven and crow that were with her upon her arrival to the battlefield.<br/>     The dead. The words caused Lonan great sorrow; sobs erupted without control. He wept for Bran, who had been tossed like a broken doll—for the crows, ravens, vultures, and other birds that came to his rescue.<br/>     Most of all, he wept for the living, Cormac and Fechín for losing so many brethren, and Willock, for losing a part of himself to protect him. So many died, and it was all his doing. Or so he thought, his mind a clouded mess or guilt, anxiety, and loneliness. He felt detached from those left standing but at the same time, right in the center of the madness.<br/>     “Let’s head home, boy,” Willock said, gently grabbing his shoulder and squeezing reassuringly.<br/>     A small black figure stirred just above the field of the dead. Lonan looked around for the knives, a feeling of dread spiking in him. “Who are you?”<br/>     “It’s me, Prince Lonan,” Cormac said.<br/>     “Cormac,” Lonan replied. Is he really here?<br/>     Willock looked over at Cormac, who was slowly flying toward them. “You are one tough soldier, Cormac. Good to see you still alive.”<br/>     Lonan looked at the bird flying in front of him, now truly seeing him. “It is you! I am so glad you are alive.” The words caused a ting of guilt for the fallen.<br/>     Cormac landed on the ground in front of them; his energy still had not returned. Lonan gently scooped him up into his arms, then retrieved the daggers, before walking toward the forest, Willock and Fechín following closely behind.<br/>     The way back to the tavern took longer than the journey there. Lonan stopped with every twig that broke from underfoot, every leaf that rustled in the wind, and with every noise the animals made that returned to the forest.<br/>     “We are right behind you, son,” Willock said whenever Lonan had stopped, making no attempt to coax him to move faster, or tell him how crazy he was being. He was patiently waiting for Lonan to keep moving forward before taking any more steps himself.<br/>     He recognized the symptoms of a panic attack from his time with the IRA and knew that they passed with time. Every now and again, Willock chimed in with, “What can you see?” or “What can you feel as we are making our way through the trees?” Willock knew that the best practice to take when helping someone cope with an attack was to remember the rule of five.<br/>     “Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste.” Unfortunately, the taste one would have to wait until he got the lad home and fed him a proper meal now that his stomach was empty from throwing up earlier.<br/>     Willock did his best to humor the boy, but he was not very funny. After a few attempts of jokes, Fechín caught on and helped by chatting with Lonan, only sounding like trills and kraas to the old man’s ears. It seemed to be working though. Nearing the end of the forest, Lonan began to chuckle softly, not a full laugh but a good start.<br/>     Once they reached the tavern, Willock retrieved clean clothes for Lonan and made him lie down for a nap while he made food. It took him much longer than normal, only having one hand to maneuver with now. It was not an ideal adjustment in Willock’s eyes, but one he could manage.<br/>     His son was safe at home. That was what mattered most to him; the rest can be mended with ample time. Willock was finishing making the meal when a woman walked into the kitchen.<br/>     “How is he doing?” the Morrigan asked, the same stone expression on her face she usually wore.<br/>     “He is resting for now. I am about to wake him once I get the table set.” Willock put the spoon down from the stew and opened the cupboard, grabbing a bowl and placing it on the countertop. “Will you be joining us?”<br/>     “Not this time, but I will be back soon. I need to speak to him first before I leave.” She made her way to the basement door. “You have done well protecting him and training him. Thank you, Sean." Descending the stairs, she knocked on Lonan's door.<br/>     "Come in," Lonan said on the other side of the door.<br/>     She opened the door and walked into his room. The curtains were shut, making the room almost completely dark. "How are you feeling?"<br/>     "Still tired." He rubbed his eyes.<br/>     "Willock made food. Are you hungry?" the Morrigan said, standing in the doorway to his basement bedroom.<br/>     "Are you staying for dinner?" Lonan said, hopeful to have all his family for dinner, for the first time ever.<br/>     "Did you want me to?" she said, her normally stone face smiling slightly.<br/>     Lonan thought for a moment, wondering if her presence would keep Sutarr and Gaya away. "Yes." His hands trembled slightly. "I would like that."<br/>     "Am I still a soggy waffle?" She chuckled.<br/>     The first true grin since the battle slipping into place, he said, “Also, yes."<br/>     They both laughed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading the 1st edition, and I cannot wait to share the 2nd edition with you.  Plus all the other amazing stories in the Ancestry Universe.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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